Broomtail
by Doctor Teeth
Summary: Corsair ships band together to form a mighty armada while one of the finest Salamandastron armies in history gears up for war. Captured by the enemy, a wandering, shipwrecked fox must escape and decide to create a third side in the war all by himself.
1. Nowhere to Run

"Ohbuggerbuggerbuggerbugger…"

A pair of light brown footpaws splashed through the puddles forming on the moist soil. Rain pounded down into the earth, soaking beast and plant alike. Over the constant swearing and panting, war cries and whoops echoed through the copse. Frantically, the pursued creature gulped air in and tried to pick up speed. He'd never been a good runner, in speed or endurance. Have me hold the entrance to a cave or something, he gasped, ducking under a low-hanging branch. I could do that. No sweat. No running.

The roaring of his hunters grew nearer. "Damn," he hissed, and dove behind a drenched log, throwing himself flat. His dirty brown fur blended in with the soil, and he tucked his tail under his body to hide it—brushes didn't appear in nature. Shivering, he held his breath and waited.

The war cries had grown fainter over the past few minutes, eventually stopping altogether. The trampling of at least a dozen footpaws had faded and stopped. The hidden beast exhaled gratefully and slowly stood up.

Flicking water from his pointed ears, the fox grinned to himself. Safe at last. Damn the Long Patrol! They caught sight of one lone fox going about his travels and they were down on him like a ton of…a ton of…rectangular building pieces.

Hunched over slightly, the fox shivered once more. He had never owned a tunic, just a pair of pants. Now, he regretted it. So bloody cold. There had to be a hollow or something he could stay in until the downpour ceased.

Creeping forward, he bumped right into a Long Patrol hare.

"Oh, bugger."

Panicking, the fox shoved the hare out of the way and took off running once more. Two more hares materialized out of the gloom, swords drawn. Drat. Wrong way. The fox turned and saw more hares emerging from their hiding places, weapons upraised. He was surrounded.

Nowhere to go…but up.

Leaping into the air, the fox grabbed a branch and quickly pulled himself up. Squatting on the thick oak bough, he drew his sword, a wavy-edged flamberge, and laughed.

"Yaaaah, missed me," he taunted, sticking his tongue out childishly.

"Hello," someone whispered. The fox turned to see a grey blur zip forward and hit him in the head with a long stick. The blow sent the fox tumbling to the ground with a thud. His sword followed, burying itself half the blade length in the ground.

A gray squirrel, twirling the stick, nimbly dropped to the ground. "You're welcome, Captain."

"I say, you squirrels of the Stick are pretty handy in woods and such, wot?" commented a hare. Dazed, the fox shook his head to clear his vision. Let's not do that again, broomtail. Stay out of the bloody trees. Groaning, he started to push himself up.

A bladepoint pricked his throat. The fox froze. Okay, we'll just stay here.

"Keep y'blade on that ruffian, Windpaw," a hare commented, stepping into the center of the circle. Other than the Long patrol insignia on his tunic, the hare had no medals or symbols of rank. A humble hare? The fox scoffed inwardly. That's a real wossname. Oxymoron. Or just a moron.

"Can I get up now?" the fox asked, eyeing the blade. "And does it really take all thirteen of you to stop just one of me?"

"All right, let him up," the oxymoron hare relented. "And better safe than sorry, old bean. What do they call you?"

The fox slowly got up, and then yanked his flamberge from the ground, knocking away the rapier at his throat. Instantly, another ten blades encircled him. Only the captain and the squirrel remained motionless. The captain seemed thoughtful, stroking his chin and staring at the fox.

"I'm Bayrd," the fox answered, and then laughed. "What a way to treat innocent travelers. So much for the so-called gallantry of hares."

One of the hares, younger than the others, stiffened. "You shut your mouth, boyo, before I shut it for you!"

"Takes a damn lot of bravery, talking when you've got another dozen backing you up, you liddle worm," Bayrd laughed harshly.

"Bad move," someone whispered. There was a tremor of laughter.

"Sounded like a challenge to me," the young hare cried. "Back off, fellows!"

"Hey, kid, I don't want to kill ya," Bayrd warned, lowering his flamberge. The hare charged, saber raised.

"Then that's your first mistake, laddie buck!"

Easily, the fox sidestepped the attack. These hares were known for finesse when they fought; graceful, but ferocious and completely unafraid. Bayrd, however, was not immune to fear, and if he had the chance, he'd run. He had two options. One was to run like a demon when the hares were distracted. He wouldn't get far, but he might be able to hide a while and they'd lose him.

Second option. Kill this little whelp and take his chances with the wrath of Salamandastron's finest.

Forget the first option. Bayrd was pissed. "Get ready to eat some mud 'n' blood, mate," he growled, and attacked. His flamberge chopped through the air, creating a loud whooshing noise when it missed the young hare's head. He swung again, only to be blocked by the hare's saber. The hare easily blocked his attacks easily, with the movements of a practiced, by-the-book swordsbeast. So the hare had perfect technique. Fine. He didn't need technique.

Bayrd leaped into the air, slashing and kicking at the same time. His sword missed, but his footpaw nailed the hare right on his nose. Before the hare could react, Bayrd punched him in the stomach. As the hare doubled over, the wily fox grabbed him by the neck, lifted him into the air, and brought his flamberge up and into the hare's stomach. The point ripped through his insides and out his lower back with a sickening crunch.

The silent bystanders watched in horror as the stricken young hare coughed blood and went limp. Bayrd let the body slide of the sword, calmly bent down, and wiped the crimson liquid onto the grass. "Shouldn't have let me duel him," he murmured. "I told him."

A shriek of rage sounded through the trees. A female hare, probably a tad older than her dead comrade, dropped her blade and charged at Bayrd. The fox was perplexed. Should he kill her or what? Piss those bloody hares off even more?

He stuck the sword in the ground and sidestepped, neatly tripping the enraged hare. Before he could do anything else, something hit him on the back of the head. He let go of wakefulness and drifted into a dark slumber.

And…the fox awoke.

"Why don't we just kill the cruel blaggard? He slew Furny!"

"No, laddo. Look at him. He's a corsair, or was. The Lady will want to question him. He must have information. Besides, he killed Furny in a duel. 'Twasn't murder."

"He's a vermin, sah!"

Bayrd cracked one eye and looked around, ignoring his throbbing head and cold, wet fur. Hares? What were hares doing here? Why're my paws bound? What happened? Then he remembered, and proceeded to swear to himself.

"And Furny was a hare, Sergeant Abram. And your point is? Get them ready to march. 'Tis only a few hours to Salamandastron."

"Sah…Furny's sister…she wants the fox dead, and then some. I don't know if we can control the poor gel."

"You'd better, Sergeant! Just keep her away from him until we get to the mountain. Then the Lady can have a word in her shell-like ear, wot. We march in five minutes. Dismissed."

"Sah." The sergeant sounded dejected. The other speaker sighed. Bayrd heard him quietly stride over to him. He stopped straining against his bonds and lay still.

"You can just stop that, laddie buck. I know you're awake, wot."

The fox opened his eyes and looked up into the cold eyes of the Long Patrol captain.

"Bayrd, is it? The name's Captain Johnathan Sinistra. Feel free to thank me anytime y'like."

"Thanks?" Bayrd rasped. Good grief, he could use some water. He opened his mouth, letting some rainwater fall in. "What?"

"For letting you live, I should think," Captain Sinistra said admonishingly. "After all, the others wanted to kill you. To tell you the truth, I wouldn't complain, but you'll be useful to the Lady."

"Who?" Monosyllabic answers will work just fine.

"The Badger Lady or Lordess. Lady Halligan. We call her the Lady. And she'll be talking to you quite often on account of you being a corsair, so I'd treat her with the utmost respect. It'll be easier on you, laddo."

"Whaddya mean, 'corsair?'" Bayrd laughed, lying through his teeth. "I've never even seen the sea, Cap'n. Sorry, you've picked the wrong fox. If you're looking for help."

"You don't wear a shirt and your fur is lighter than most hues of brown I've seen, indicating you're accustomed to working in the sunlight. Ye've got heavy calluses on you're bally paws, probably from hauling on the ropes and shivering your timbers and suchlike. You've got scars on your back, right where a whip would hit if the bosun took offense. Last, you know how to handle a blade, and most vermin only have paltry knowledge of that. They don't dominate the weak by skill, they do it by quantity and strength. You're a corsair, m'lad, and don't even think of lying to me or anyone else from here on out or it'll be the worse for you—and since you've already killed one of the Long Patrol, it's not looking good for you anyways."

Bayrd silently gaped at the hare, amazed. Very perceptive, that hare. But of course, he'd never lie, not really. He'd tell stories, full of twists and turns, and those would take the place of reality. No one would know the difference, not even a badger lady and her officers.

"Mooooooooooooove out!"

Two burly hares stalked over, hauled the bound fox upright, and started marching him forward. Deliberately, the fox dug his heels into the soft earth. One of the hares cuffed him around the head—hard. Bayrd saw stars and fire erupt in his eyes. Dropping his gaze, he sighed and started walking. Nearby, Sergeant Abrams shouldered his pike and started bellowing orders.

"Burial detail, treat the casualty with respectah! Two to young Furny, that's the ticketah! Two guards at the prisoner? Good—_not you, Private Eleanor! You're with Windpaw, get to the mountain h-and tell them the news and get h-away from that prisoner get movingah!_ The rest of you, fall in and march! Hwun two hwun two! I'll have your guts for garters h-and that's just for startersah!"

"Guts for garters," Bayrd muttered. One of his guards looked at him quizzically. "Just like that dead hare," the fox continued, smirking. The guard punched him again. Bayrd sagged, struggling to stay conscious. Ye gods, these hares had a punch like an iron bar.

"What's the trouble with that prisonerah?!" screamed the sergeant. "Get him movingah you 'orrible little guards!"

"Yes, _sah_!" shouted one of Bayrd's guards, and kicked him until he stumbled forward. "Come on, ye bally murderer, less talk and more walk!"

Bayrd groaned and shut his mouth. The damn sergeant knew he was getting beaten up back here, and he wouldn't say a thing.

_I hate hares_.


	2. Salamandastron

**Note: Thanks for reviewing, Sorcha. You pronounce his name "Bared." Anybody else reading, review plzkthxbai.**

**Chapter 2: Salamandastron**

Thankfully, the rain finally ceased, although the dark clouds obstinately refused to leave. The fresh, salty smell of the sea wafted through the air while the crashing roar of the waves lapping at the shore echoed across the beaches. Above it all rose the majestic, craggy volcano: Salamandastron.

The sight sent Bayrd deeper into depression. He'd never actually seen the mountain, wisely steering clear to avoid the Long Patrol. Besides, his captain, an old, wily pine marten, had refused to even consider attacking the mountain unless he had three armies at his back (and even then, the armies would have to be _pretty damn good_), and now Bayrd understood why. The mountain of fire towered over the lands, a stalwart guardian that bellowed to evil-doers, "Here I am. Be at peace or face my wrath."

The golden-brown fox had always wanted to see it, but only from a distance…and certainly not the inside. Over the seasons, the hares in the mountain had grown so used to battle that most could fell five strong foes before receiving a scratch. Abruptly, Bayrd laughed aloud, earning him a hard blow stomach from a guard. Preposterous. Obviously, time and myth had teamed up to create crazy legends about the hares and their badger ruler. For pity's sake, Bayrd himself—and he would be the first to admit he was a mediocre swordsbeast, more used to rough, down 'n' dirty barfights than wars or duels—had slain one of the hares in less than a minute.

The mountain…any lone vermin would flee at the sight of it. The fox considered breaking free of his guards and running, running until one of the hare's placed an arrow on a bowstring and shot him down. Dying didn't seem appealing. It never did. Resigned to his unknown fate, Bayrd hobbled forward.

"Open the gates!" Captain Sinistra shouted.

"You've got a bally vermin with you, old chum!" a hidden hare called.

Sinistra squinted upwards, roaring back, "Aye, he's a prisoner! Now open the bally gates or you'll be in the hoosegow with him!"

Obligingly, the gates slowly swung open. In went the captain, followed by the two hares carrying the body of the hare Furny. Then came the two guard hares, half-dragging, half-shoving Bayrd along with them. After them came another four hares, shouldering their weapons and looking immensely pleased to be back home. The final two had already reached the mountain to deliver the news.

"I say, old bean," one of Bayrd's guards commented to his comrade. "What exactly is a 'hoosegow?'"

"Why, it's the dungeons. Foxy here's getting three hots and a cot for as long as the Lady wants his company, wot?"

"Three hots? I doubt it, matey. We'll give him two colds at the most."

"Thanks, lardbelly," Bayrd growled, and winced as the guards simultaneously thumped him.

"Shut up, you!"

"Steady in the ranks, lads," a lieutenant warned from behind them. "Let's try and set an example for the young 'uns, eh?"

"We are setting an example, 'tenant!" one of the guards exclaimed indignantly as they followed the captain up a long flight of stairs. Hares watched them from various rooms they passed, making Bayrd feel rather uncomfortable. They didn't look happy.

"Hailstone's quite right, Eltee! We're showing the little lads and lasses that vermin ought to be smacked around, wot? It's our job as the Long Patrol."

"Gallstone's smack on the money there, old bean."

"All right, that's enough," the captain interjected.

"Burial detail, take the corpus away!" shouted the sergeant. "Guard detail, follow the captain. The rest of you, diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiismissed!"

The hares dispersed, chatting to each other, trying to forget the dead body in their midst. Captain Sinistra, Bayrd, and the two guards, Hailstone and Gallstone, continued upwards.

"Where'm I goin'?" Bayrd asked hesitantly, afraid of another beating.

Gallstone smiled coldly. "Straight to Hellgates, m'lad."

"Where'm I goin' right this very moment?" the fox amended.

"To the Lady Halligan," the captain said. "She resides in the upper atmosphere of our rocky fortress, wot?"

"You're in _trouble_, laddie buck," Hailstone added gleefully. "The Lady'll be rather peeved you bumped off a hare."

"It was in a duel! It ain't murder if it's in a duel, right?" Bayrd protested desperately as they stopped before a huge door. Banging and hissing emanated outwards.

"Don't matter to the Lady. 'Sides, you cheated."

"Aw, come on!"

Hailstone chuckled as the captain knocked at the door, requesting entrance. "'Tis a sword duel. Paws 'n' claws aren't allowed."

A booming voice called through the door. "Enter."

Sinistra opened the door and strode through, ripping off an impeccable salute. The two guard hares followed suit. "Lady Halligan, marm."

A hulking mass of fur and muscle turned to face them. Bayrd gaped openly. He'd never seen a badger before, luckily enough. Now that he finally saw one, he was _scared_. The creature was enormous, with huge muscles and paws that could easily cover his face and crush it. The fox inadvertently tried to step back, still awestruck.

The lady badger nailed him with an icy glare. Her bloodshot eyes had a slightly pinkish hue. "Report," she growled.

The captain saluted again. "Marm! Patrolled only for a few hours, found no sign of any corsair ships along the coastline. Howe'er, we spotted this fox by the name of Bayrd. My patrol pursued him into a copse a few hours away from here and surrounded him with the help of a nearby Squirrel of the Stick. The fox goaded young Furnidall into a duel. The duel ended with the fox kicking Furnidall in the hooter, punching him in the gut, and running him through. Body's downstairs right now, marm. Sergeant Abram knocked the fox a good one on the back of his brainbox and apprehended him, and we returned here to pay respects to the body. Marm!"

Lady Halligan swiveled her unblinking stare to the captain. "Why did you not kill the fox?"

"Marm, he seems to be a corsair. Thought we could get him to tell us more, marm, possibly as to the whereabouts of Darkten and his ships."

Bayrd knew the name Darkten. As fierce a pirate as the world had ever seen, the ferret had gathered a score of his friends together as a lad, stole a ship, and forced the crew of shrews and otters to show them how to sail. Afterwards, they marooned the former crew on a deserted isle and went into pirating, recruiting other pirates and ships to create a fleet of at least a dozen ships, with Darkten at its head. The ferret had charisma. Corsairs across the waters knew his name. Bayrd's own captain considered joining Darkten's army. Maybe he had while Bayrd traveled.

"I asked you a question, fox," the badger shouted, startling him from his reverie.

"What? Wasn't listening."

The guard Hailstone threw him to the ground. Paws bound tightly behind him, Bayrd couldn't protect himself and smashed painfully into the cold stone. He groaned. "You hares are worse'n vermin."

Growling ominously, Halligan picked him up and slammed him against the wall. His footpaws dangled several pawlengths off of the ground. Gasping, Bayrd looked down, away from the pink-tinted eyes of the lady badger. "Look at me," Halligan hissed through clenched teeth. Bayrd slowly lifted his gaze. The bloodshot eyes turned deeper red. The fox gulped audibly.

"You are going to tell me everything you know about the corsairs in these waters, and you'd better hope that everything you tell me is true, for your sake," she snarled, dropping him. "Throw him in the dungeons until tomorrow. Young Furny's burial comes first."

"Am I invited?" Bayrd asked sarcastically before he could stop himself. The badger picked him up with both paws, lifted him over her head, and threw him out the door. Bayrd cried out in pain as he rolled down the stairs, stopping after a few flights. He slumped, quivering. His body felt like one big bruise. A trio of passing hares laughed scornfully at him, adding insult to injury. One commented, "I say, do you think he made the Lady angry?" They laughed even more.

Bayrd sighed despondently as Hailstone and Gallstone bounded down the stairs. They brought him down a few more landings, ragging him unmercifully about his humiliating exit from the forge room, until they reached a thick door made completely of thick granite. Another muscular hare lounged to the side, leaning on his halberd. "Ah, my two esteemed brothers! How goes? A new chappy for the lock up, then?"

"Right you are, Pebble old boy." The third guard opened the door slightly and shoved Bayrd through. The thick stone slab slammed behind him.

As jails went, it wasn't that bad. A dozen straw mats were lined up against one barren stone wall, but otherwise the room was completely empty…except for the halfscore vermin prisoners.

Two ferrets in typical corsair garb chatted quietly in a corner while a third napped on one of the makeshift beds. A muscular grey stoat, secluded from the rest of the beasts silently performed push-ups. Two searats and three weasels played poker in the center of the cell. Finally, a lean pine marten chewed the end of a grubby seagull feather quill, a scrap of parchment and tiny bottle of ink beside him. As Bayrd entered, the vermin glanced up (except the stoat, who continued what he was doing) to see the new arrival. The pine marten set his writing aside, leaped upright, and bounded over to the fox.

"Bayrd? Is that you?"

Bayrd did a double-take. "Hello, Lenn!" Optimism returned to the downtrodden fox. Lennartney, Lenn for short, knew Bayrd from their time as corsairs; before the shipwreck that left Bayrd stranded near Salamandastron, they had sailed on the same ship for a few voyages. Not only a skilled seabeast, Lenn also provided entertainment to his shipmates, being a talented musician. "My ol' marten matey, how'd they get you in here? You should've sung a bit when they caught ya. That would've sent 'em running, haha," the fox teased, clapping his friend on the shoulder. The marten rolled his emerald eyes.

"Aye, very funny. Me an' some of the crew took one of the longboats during the storm and high-tailed it to land. What happened to the ship?"

"Sunk like a log," Bayrd replied, sitting down by the musician's writing. "I had to grab some wreckage and float to shore. What've you got here?"

Lenn shrugged. "Just some tunes I've been working on. You know me: I like my music."

Nodding, Bayrd turned the sheet around, trying to make sense of the notes. "I ain't no bard, mate. Better you then me. So, if you went ashore with some of th' crew, why aren't they here with us?"

"The bloody Long Patrol ambushed us," Lenn growled. Leaning against the cool stone, he gazed out of one of the small window slits that brought in light. "Killed every last one of us, save me an' that stoat over there."

"I don't remember seeing him on board."

"He just signed up this last voyage and he kept to himself. See, he ain't playing cards with the others. 'E just minds his own business. Nice bloke."

"So," Bayrd continued, "why'd they spare you two?"

"The captain told 'em to take a couple prisoners. I guess us two looked prettier than the rest; maybe 'e thought we was officers or somethin'. What about you?"

"I wandered around for a while, looking for you all. Then the hares picked up my trail and went after me. Crafty bastards surrounded me, but I got one of 'em angry and we dueled. In the end…" Bayrd took his sword paw and made a stabbing motion with it. "Gutted him. The captain took me prisoner. Did the captain what got you not have any medals, just a plain tunic? Moustache, sort of squinting look?"

"Aye, that's the one. Sinistra, I think he's called."

"He's a bit decent…more than the others, anyways. Especially that she-badger." Bayrd looked up. The three weasels had stopped their game and were striding purposefully toward him. Bayrd watched the way they walked, how they held themselves. Yeah…probably gang leaders from around these parts. They sure as hell weren't real Corsairs. They wore boots, uncommon for most sea-faring beasts, and they had bulky muscles, not the wiry sort that Corsairs had.

They arrived in the formation Bayrd expected: biggest in front, the other two flanking him. "Yeah?" the fox asked lazily. Beside him, Lennartney pointedly busied himself with his music.

"'Ello, mate. The name's Ellak. These," he continued, gesturing to the two coal-furred weasels beside him, "are the Brothers Darkness. What's yer name?"

"Bayrd."

"Well, I dunno if the marten has told ya yet, but we're the elected leaders o' this prison, see?"

Bayrd glanced at the impassive Brothers Darkness. "Everyone here elected _you_ three? That's rich."

Ellak snarled but tried to hold his temper in check. "Now, see, me and the boys don't like talk like that. Say something mean again and we'll have to use our eggs-eck-yoo-tive powers to show you the error of yer ways."

Staring blankly at the lead weasel, the Corsair fox slowly stood up. Lenn hastily scrambled upright and whispered in his ear, "Bayrd, matey, I know you don't like to take guff like that, but they gave one of those ferrets a real beating the other day for mouthing off. Just sit down, hey? No one wants trouble."

"You better lissen to yer friend, fox," Ellak added.

Bayrd glanced at Lennartney, then at Ellak. "My mistake," he apologized, holding out his paw. Hesitantly, Ellak shook it. Instantly, Bayrd threw his knee forward and pulled the weasel towards him. Ellak gasped as the wind was knocked out of him. Before the Brothers Darkness could do anything, Bayrd punched Bayrd in the snout, sending him crashing to the ground. The other vermin stood to watch with grim amusement (except the stoat, who continued his sit-ups, but still glanced over curiously).

Diving onto the downed weasel, Bayrd rained blows upon him, hitting his jaw again and again. Howling, Ellak writhed in pain, screaming, "Get him off me, yew idiots!" The ink-furred weasels moved to pull Bayrd off, but Lenn grabbed them from behind and threw them into the wall. Their heads simultaneously cracked against the rock, knocking them out cold. Bayrd ignored the commotion behind him, intent on beating the pulp out of the bullying weasel. Blood started to flow from Ellak's nose as he shrieked and tried in vain to push the raging fox off of him.

Suddenly, the door to the cells slid open with a grating noise and five hares rushed in, weapons drawn. "Get off the weasel, ye bally madbeast," one commanded, pointing his sword at Bayrd. The fox consented, kicking Ellak one last time before stepping back. The hares grabbed the cringing weasel and hauled him out, locking the stone slab behind them.


	3. To Weave a Lie

With the violently sudden lack of a self-proclaimed prisoner leader, a lighter atmosphere emerged, or as light as the atmosphere could be in a dungeon. The two rats immediately became friendly to Bayrd and Lenn following Ellak's beating, as did the Brothers Darkness. When asked what their actual names were, both said they were named "Darkness," so Bayrd referred to them as Darknesses. "Less of a mouthful," he reasoned.

The three ferrets, all Corsairs from another ship, immediately took a liking to Bayrd. The only creature who never spoke was the stoat. Lenn told Bayrd that his name was Ecks, because that's what he signed on the ship's charter: X. The brown fox didn't take it personally, figuring that the stoat was content exercising.

That night, after the meager dinner of a thin vegetable soup and water, Bayrd excused himself from the continual poker game and sat down in a corner. The hares would interrogate him tomorrow, and there wasn't a chance in hell that he was going to sell out his shipmates, marooned or not. Besides, the growing armada of unified Corsair ships would be in serious danger if he told them anything. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. Thinking time.

"Oi, Bayrd. What're you doing, matey?" Bayrd cracked an eye and squinted at the questioning searat, Yanko.

"I'm thinkin'. Shut yer trap, a'ight?"

"What about?"

"I'm makin' a story to give to the badger. After that, I'm thinkin' of a plan to bust us outta here."

"That'll be hard," one of the ferrets (named Snake-Eyes) laughed bitterly. "The only way out is the door, and it's locked and guarded all the time."

"I'm working on it. Look, everybody stop talkin' to me, I gotta think. Lenny boy, play something on that little flute of yours. They say music helps the brain."

The pine marten complied cheerily. Pulling out a carved wooden flute from his sleeve, he played a few experimental notes, positioned the scrap of parchment with the music on it, and began to play. Bayrd shut his eyes again as the mournful tune echoed through the large cell, and began to scheme.

By the time Lennartney had finished his song, Bayrd had a believable story formulated, ready to be spoon-fed to the enemy.

The next day, around noontime, Bayrd was summoned by the Lady Halligan. Not taking any chances, no less than four guards arrived to take Bayrd to the forge room. Word death of the hare Furny, as well as Ellaks beating, must have spread. He'd only been here a day, and the hares were scared of him. Big-mouthed fools, ha ha!

Knocking on the forge room door, the hares entered, Bayrd in their midst. Halligan had her back to him. She held something; the fox craned his neck but couldn't see what it was.

"Fox," she growled without turning. "Guards, leave us." Bayrd ignored her, looking around the room. Lots of weapons. _Lots_ of weapons…good ones, too. A bit dusty, perhaps, but all had a sturdy, well-made look about them. But he wouldn't be able to get in. It looked as though the badger spent all of her time in here. There must be another armory somewhere.

Suddenly, something hit him in the chest. Looking down, he blinked. The bloody, severed head of the weasel Ellak lay staring up at him, face frozen in horror. "Lovely," he quipped. "Do that yourself, did ya?"

"None of your lip, fox, or I'll cut both of them off," Halligan replied in a low, threatening tone. Bayrd shut up quickly. "Tell me everything you know about this armada of Corsair ships. How many there are, who leads them, and what their plans are. Now."

Bayrd pretended to obstinately keep silent. Immediately spilling the beans would look suspicious. The badger watched him for a few seconds, before pulling a sword off of one of the racks. Before Bayrd could leap out of the way, she swung, sword slicing through the air at blinding speed. The pointy tip of skin of one of his ears was sliced off. Yelping, Bayrd pawed at his ear as blood welled up. "Stop whining, fox, it was only a nick. Next time, it'll be lower."

He was silent. "I have other Corsair prisoners. Killing you won't matter in the long run," Halligan snarled, and raised the sword. Bayrd dived out of the way just in time, slamming up against a rack of blades as the sword swished past his side. "All right, all right!" he cried, raising a hand. "I'll talk, I'll talk! Just don't hurt me!" While he talked, he slipped a curved dagger from the rack into a rope tied around his leg. In a flash, he had a concealed weapon. "Oh please, don't kill me, milady! What would my family say?"

"You probably killed your family already for a crust of bread," Halligan grimaced, raising the sword again. Bayrd knelt, sneakily stubbing his toe as hard as he could against the floor. Tears welled up in his eyes from the pain; he pretended it was from fear.

"Oh, please! I've got a mother, little ole Ma, and Pa, and Grandpa and Grandma! I've got a little golden-furred sister, she's got eyes just like you! Oh, please, milady, they'd be heartbroken if they didn't never see me again!"

"Stop your sniveling, vermin!" Halligan roared, silencing the weeping fox. "Tell me about the corsairs."

Although he appeared to be shaking uncontrollably, Bayrd inwardly was dancing with glee. No one could outsmart _this_ fox. Trembling, he stood and began his tale:

"There's an island in the far south. Many seasons ago, it used to be run by a mad pine marten, pirates, and lizards. After the Champion of Redwall killed the pine marten, he and his army burned all the timber on the island and sailed away, marooning the pirates. After many seasons, though, the trees grew back, and the surviving corsairs built one big ship, big enough for all of them. They chose their captain and sailed, bringing back riches and plunder beyond my wildest dreams, which says somethin'. The island turned into a thriving port ag'in.

"My captain took us there for supplies and stuff. We would've put our loot there, but the head captain taxes all the imports. My cap'n didn't like that, see? I mean, it's _our_ goods. We ignored the taxes, and the head captain, lord o' all the waters there, sent three of his ships out after us. They sunk our ship, killed half the crew, and took all the loot. Only some of us escaped. We took the jollyboats and made off to the mainland. I got split off from 'em there, and then your hares found me. That's the truth, milady, honest it is," he concluded, nodding tearfully.

Halligan stared at him thoughtfully. "This head captain...he's Darkten?"

"Aye, he's Darkten," Bayrd answered, feigning a shiver of fear. "Behind 'is back, some of the lads called him the Bone Rat. All his weapons and armor are fashioned out of the bones of wolverines, and it's pretty hard to kill a wolverine…oh, yes indeed. Oh, he's a cruel blagg'rd, that he is. All of us were afeared of him."

"How many ships were under his control?"

"All told, almost a half-dozen." That was a lie; Darkten's army was twice that number. The Bone Rat himself wasn't as cruel or horrible as Bayrd spoke, either; in fact, he was a fair and intelligent ruler, not insane or malicious but not soft-hearted, either. But the badger didn't need to know that, now did she?

"And how many beasts to a ship?"

"It varied from ship to ship, but usually around thirty." More like forty, you damn fool stripedog.

The Lady Halligan seemed to accept his story, much to his relief. She called for the guards and sent Bayrd backed to the cells, threatening as he began to leave, "If I find out you lied at _all_, fox, you can kiss that broomtail of yours good-bye, and the rest of you will follow."

"Going to cut my tail off and use it to sweep the forge, eh?"

To his surprise, the badger smiled. "Perhaps. Hailstone," she said, looking at the guard, "this prisoner looks a bit fat to me. You'd better hold off on giving him his food until tomorrow afternoon. If any of the others feed him, they get whipped."

"Splendid idea, milady," the hare saluted with his spear, grinning toothily. "Move it, you."

Bayrd curled his lip and allowed himself to be taken back to the cell. Hailstone, the guard, threw him inside bodily, reminding gleefully, "No meals until tomorrow afternoon for the fox. Anybody who shares gets a nice, long beating."

As the stone door shut, Bayrd spat and knocked aside Lennartney's arm as the pine marten tried to help him up. "Did she buy it?" Lenn asked, rubbing his arm.

"Aye, she fell for it. Hook, line, and sinker, matey. Told her Darkten was a tyrant. Hopefully, she'll try to sail to the island, thinking the vermin will be disorganized. Ah, that would be hi-laaaaaaaarious to watch. Those hares'd get _pasted_ _'cross the floor_."

"Who's Darkten?" Yanko the rat asked quizzically. Snake-eyes guffawed.

"You don't know who Darkten is? Why, every corsair sailing knows who he is!"

"But she didn't," Bayrd cut in, flopping down on a cot. "Shut up, you all. Yanko, I'll fill you in when we escape tonight."

The vermin stared at him. He turned over to look at their bamboozled faces. "Ha ha, what? You don't trust your mate Bayrd? Getting out of here will be easy as taking candy from a baby. We'll be out in two shakes of one of those hare's bobtails."

The second rat, Fenroy, pulled a helpful question from the gathering throng: "How?"

Bayrd pulled out his stolen long, curved knife and twirled it. "Howdya think?"

"_Yes_!" laughed the stoat, Ecks. It was the first word he had spoken since Bayrd entered the cell.


	4. Jailbreak

**Author's Note: I definitely did not forget that I started this. At all. Luckily for you, it's summer; I've got leisure time coming out of my ears, so this'll be updated more. Special thanks to Sorcha, as usual, and to L ChooPACABRA. Sorcha's not alone anymore. Booya.**

**Having said that, read on. Dr. T.**

With the arrival of dusk came rain. Doggedly, the storms returned, dumping sheet upon sheet of cold water onto the beaches and mountain. The guards posted outside the mountain hastily double-timed it back inside, using the great stone walls as a barrier from the cold, wet night.

The corsair fox stuck his head as far out of the window he could and opened his mouth, gratefully allowing water to fill his mouth. His stomach didn't growl—yet—but everybeast needed water. Once he had drunk his fill, he withdrew his muzzle and trotted back to the center of the cell. The rats, Yanko and Fenroy, stood watchful, ears pressed against the rock slab blocking the entrance, straining to hear over the hushed voices and pounding rain, vigilant for any guards opening the door. The others gathered in a circle, listening attentively to Bayrd's plan.

"We're sticking together during this, no matter what. I don't want anyone more than fifteen footpaws away from each other once we're out. If someone dies, leave him. We'll be hard pressed to get out as it is. First things first, we're heading to the armory. I need you all geared up and ready to fight ourselves out. If I'm correct, there're two armories. One about one floor from here, and one up in the badger's forge. Obviously, we ain't going in there. Everyone'll go up to the next floor, I'll take out any hares there, and you'll all grab some weapons. Ecks, you go in first. I want you up front with me. The rest of you, pick anything that you fancy, but only two blades apiece. We need to be quiet and stealthy. No spears or pikes. Everyone clear so far?"

"Aye, Bayrd," they chorused.

"Good lads. We'll be outta here before these two-bit roughnecks even notice we're gone. After we get the weapons, we jump out a window. One of the mountain's sides isn't as steep as the rest. It'll be tricky, and you _mustn't trip_ or bump into anyone once we're on, but we can make it. Actually, _I_ can make it. Hopefully, you all can, too. And that's the plan."  
"Wonderful, but for one thing," one of the ferrets, Swifttail, interjected. "How're we getting out of this cell?"

Snake-eyes and the third ferret, Coldbare, nodded in agreement. "Aye, how?"

The rats at the door scurried over to their mats, hissing, "They're coming!"

The vermin dispersed. Bayrd grabbed Swifttail as the ferret dashed to a corner, whispering, "That's how."

The fox slunk over to the door and hid to one side; Ecks followed suit. Slowly, the huge stone slab opened, and Hailstone walked in. "All right, chaps, time for a bit of a snack, wot? All except for the fo—"

Bayrd whirled around the door and sliced the hare's throat with the stolen dagger. Behind him, Ecks dashed out the door and dove upon the second guard before he could speak, dashing his head against the wall a couple times until the hare stopped moving. Hailstone collapsed, blood spurting onto the opened door. Chuckling madly, Bayrd wiped his blade clean on the corpse and beckoned for the others to follow him.

"Awright, lads. Let's blow this cake stand. You take care of the other one, Ecks?"

"Aye," came the monosyllabic reply.

"Good stoat. Gentlemen! For'ard."

They scampered quietly up the stairs, Bayrd in the lead, and stopped at the landing below the armory. Bayrd made a slashing gesture across his throat and then held up a paw. They nodded and stopped. The fox crept up to the door. No guards. Good. Hesitantly, he waved for the others to join him. As they crowded around, he knocked on the door. After a minute or two, it opened.

"What do you bloody young rips need at this hou—_bloody_ _hell!_"

Bayrd lunged forward and killed the old hare with a single thrust, shoving the body away. "Grab some gear, lads. They mighta heard us."

They filed in and grabbed their respective weapons. After a little searching, Bayrd found his flamberge in a corner, along with the leather straps that held it in place on his back. Smiling, he ran a paw along the blade. It _was_ a damn fine sword. He buckled on the leather straps but kept his flamberge in one paw, sticking the stolen dagger in his belt with the other.

"Everyone good?"

A hoarse chorus of "ayes" responded. Bayrd nodded. "All right. On my tail, lads. Not that close, Darkness. You're crowding me."

The vermin set off once more, going down the stairs for a short time until Bayrd held up a paw again. "All right. Out the window. Lenn, you first."

Lennartney shouldered his bow, a quiver hanging by one leg, and climbed nimbly out the window, descending the mountain face with ease. Snake-eyes poked his head out, watching. "Wow. He's good."

"He's always the one who's up in the higher levels of the ship, you know?" Bayrd replied, waving the two rats downward.

After five of the Corsairs were climbing down the mountain—most with some difficulty, for the rocks were still rather steep—Bayrd heard someone coming.

"Oh, bugger me. Everyone, hide!"

Snake-Eyes scrambled out the window, hiding beneath the sill, while Ecks, Bayrd, and Coldbare scuttled into a closet. Swiftail the ferret desperately looked for a place to hide, but there were none. Worse still, the spiraling stairs made it impossible to tell which way the approaching hare came from. Whimpering, the stoat made a wild guess and dashed down the stairs.

There was an organic crunch and a scream. Bayrd cursed and flung himself out of the closet, shouting as he went: "Get moving! Out the window!"

Snake-eyes was already moving downwards, and Coldbare vaulted out the window next, sliding on a smooth portion of rock a good fourth of the way down before stopping. "You think you're so good," Snake-eyes yelled at him. Coldbare grinned and started descending, albeit slower.

Bayrd lopped the head off of the approaching hare while Ecks checked on the fallen Swifttail. "Gut," he muttered. "Dead."

The fox glanced down and then back up. "I can see his bloody intestines."

The mountain was roused. Shouting echoed throughout the stairwells. Bayrd cursed explosively, motioning for Ecks to get climbing. Several more hares raced up the stairs, weapons ready. Bayrd backed up against the window frantically, trying to block all the attackers from stabbing him…and seeing the others on their way down.

"Good grief, he killed Norry!" a hare shouted.

"_Prison break!_" Bayrd roared, slicing the hand off of a distracted hare. The hare yelled, clutching his wrist as blood spewed onto the floor. Bayrd took the opportunity to jump into the window, a grin forming on his mouth.

"Alas, my friends! I must go! I thank you for your hospitality, and your—_bugger!_"

He slipped and fell backwards, sliding down the mountain. A sharp, jagged rock sliced a shallow cut along his back; he grunted and hurled his sword down to the others. With both paws free, he grabbed a protruding rock and screamed, "Lenn! Cover me!"

Arrows were clattering all around him, bouncing off of rocks as the hares sought to avenge their losses. Lennartney nocked an arrow to his bow and let it fly. It took an attacking hare through the shoulder. "Coldbare, grab Bayrd's sword. The rest of you, get running! Head for Mossflower; we'll catch up."

Bayrd stood up and leaped off of the mountain, flailing madly as he fell twenty feet down, landing on the soft sand. "Oof! Bugger _me_!"

Scrambling upright, he took his sword from Coldbare and charged after the others. "C'mon!"

Under cover of darkness, the escaped prisoners made a mad dash to Mossflower. Behind them, the Long Patrol was already gearing up.


	5. Changes of Scenery

**Note: As per usual, thanks to those that reviewed and a hearty "You suck" to those that did not. I'm kidding, of course, but seriously. Reviewing is good. All the cool kids do it.**

The trees of Mossflower, all different shapes and sizes, cast long shadows onto the dirt road leading up to Redwall Abbey; in a few minutes, the shadows disappeared. Tentatively, the sun rose into the sky, appearing to laboriously move from one small storm cloud to another.

"Rain or do not rain," the mouse sighed, arms folded in his plain brown habit. "Pick a side."

Abbot Havelock twitched his ears and leaned his salt-and-pepper black-furred head to one side, popping his neck. The dreary rain came and went, came and went. Bothersome.

Slowly walking along the wall, the Abbot glanced back up at the sky and sighed once more.

"Reading the words in the sky saying 'You are old,' are we?"

Havelock snorted and continued walking. Behind him, an otter, slouching against the sandstone, turned and followed him. "Interesting to see you up so early, Laurie," Havelock commented, strolling towards the steps.

The otter limped after him, a wooden cane aiding his right leg. "Even more interesting that a mouse of your age can see at _all_."

Chuckling, the abbot started down the stairs. Laurie rolled his eyes and hopped down the stairs, his crippled leg held up in the air. "Are you ever going to build some sort of elevation machine to show some respect and famed Redwall hospitality for the cripples?"

"Me? Of course not," Abbot Havelock replied without turning. "I'm far too old to be a construction worker."

"C'mon…it'll make you feel young again."

"Take it up with Jackson," the abbot replied, reaching the ground. "Or Daniels."

"The Cellarhogs are all D-R-U-N-K," Laurie replied.

"Well, then get someone else. Build your communication skills. There are plenty of young, able-bodied beasts here—many more than we've had in seasons past." The abbot started walking back towards the doors. Laurie hobbled after him, reaching briefly into a pouch slung across his shoulders and pulling out a small piece of bark, popping it into his mouth. "I asked. They said no."

"With such an amazing sense of compassion, it is hard to understand why," Havelock replied, flashing the otter a brief, gleaming smile over his shoulder. "If it means that much to you, my son, I'll ask around. In the meantime, use a grappling hook and a rope. Your arms aren't crippled." Decidedly un-crippled, the abbot added silently, glancing back over his shoulder at the otter. Laurie was stronger and decidedly more intelligent than most otters…certainly more so than the other Abbeydwellers, though that wasn't to say the others were weak. Laurie really lacked but two things: speed and social skills. Oh, he was talkative, but sardonic, bitter, callous. He didn't really have a job at the Abbey, which wasn't much of a surprise: he couldn't work with other beasts—their "stupidity" annoyed him. As for the speed...well, Laurie didn't like to talk about his leg. It had been severely wounded in battle, but he never said more. The Skipper of Otters refused to elaborate, which annoyed Havelock to no end. Laurie constantly popped small pieces of bark that he prepared himself, coated with some sort of herbal painkiller. Havelock would bet all the food in the kitchens that the otter was addicted.

"Zing!" Laurie crowed sarcastically. Havelock chuckled and opened the Abbey door.

"After you."

Unsurprisingly, the kitchens were already alive, even early in the morning. Havelock turned away from them and quietly strode down a side hall. Too much talking, too much noise…too early. He knew Laurie felt the same way.

"So, Pop Abbot. Have you ever had that feeling that you thought of something really important but can't remember it?"

"Why, yes, I have. It's called 'binge drinking.' I'm not _that_ proud of my youth."

Laurie cracked a grin. "Ha. I'm serious, though…I think I had some sort of dream last night. Can't remember a thing."

"Important?"

"Yes, important. It wasn't the 'Help, I'm being chased by a trout with a battle-axe!' kind of dream."

"Give it time, Laurie. Go to bed early tonight. You may dream it again."

The abbot continued down the cloisters without looking back. The crippled otter leaned on his cane, staring into space, then shrugged and limped away.

Bayrd was about to collapse. After the escape, adrenaline and days of rest had only been able to send him so far. Now, staggering doggedly onward, exhaustion hit him like a ton of bricks. His breath came ragged, and eventually he grunted, "To hell with it. OI! STOPPIT!"

The corsairs skidded to a halt. Snake-eyes fell over on the sand, gasping. "Thank…you…"

Unsurprisingly, Ecks seemed completely refreshed, almost disappointed the run ended so quickly. He stood by, mystified, while the others' chests heaved and tongues lolled. Eventually, Bayrd felt comfortable with talking.

"All right," he panted. "We ain't got water, food, or nothin'. We gotta get to the main road by Mossflower and take it south."

"That goes to Redwall," Lennartney pointed out, one paw still clenching his bow. Bayrd nodded.

"Yeh, yeh. I know. They've got food coming out of their ears."

"Are you insane? We're vermin!" the musical stoat protested, using the bow to pull himself upright. "Corsairs, at that! They'll—"

"They'll what?" Bayrd asked, chuckling despite himself. "Shoot us? Peace, love, and food, mate. That's all they care about. Now, y'all listen close. We're gonna have the Long Patrol coming down on us any second. We need to keep moving. We can skirt these mountains and make a u-turn, get on the road, and run to the Abbey. We're not invading, we're not taking no hostages; hellfire, we can hand over our weapons and we'll just smile, a'ight? I don't care what we have to do."

"Why?" Fenroy asked. "What's so special about the Abbey?"

Bayrd stood and started walking. Left without a choice, his crew followed. "Because, my good rat, once we mingle with the fine lads and lasses at the Abbey, show 'em we don't mean any harm, we'll be safe as houses. Long Patrol barges in, demanding we surrender, and we're sitting safe and sound in the Abbey, bein' gentlebeasts an' all. Abbeybeasts won't hand us over. It's their law, see? Hospitality, mates."

They broke into a jog, heading east towards the road. Bayrd adjusted his flamberge and led them on. "Sun's coming up now. If we run like we just did, we can get there by noon."

"And if we go a bit slower, we can get there by teatime," Lenn said. "We're all tired."

"Long Patrol's coming," Bayrd pointed out, picking up speed even as his knees protested violently.

"They'll be tired, too."

"It's gonna rain soon."

"Good, we'll have something to drink."

Bayrd gave up. "Fine. Take it a bit slower. Just remember this: when we get there, I don't want any fighting. No stealing, and for the love of all that is good on this earth, be polite. If you don't think you can do that, don't say _anything_. Just leave it to me."

"Don't we always?" Lenn muttered into Bayrd's ear. The fox laughed and clapped his friend on the back as they ran. "Trust me, mate. Safe as houses."


	6. Abbey

**Note: Excellent. Another reviewer, another stolen soul. Mwahaha.**

**Every time you read without reviewing, another puppy sheds another tear.**

**Oh, and Lennartney is a pine marten. I was dumb and said stoat last chapter...but damned if I'll take the time to change it.**

Running…ugh.

The rain helped. No doubt about it. Bayrd threw his head back and drank it in, letting it clean the sweat off of his face. It felt _good_.

Running, however, ruined the experience. He twitched his ears to shake water away and shouted, "Anybody see the Abbey?"

One after another, they answered over the thunder, "No!"

"Can we go into tree cover?" Snake-eyes pleaded. "I'm soaked to the bone!"

"No!" Bayrd yelled. "We're almost there, lads! I don't trust these woods. We could get ambushed."

"No one will be out and about in _this_!" Lenn called. "Please?"

Against his better judgment, Bayrd caved. "You can get under the trees, but stay on the road!"

Gratefully, the corsairs dashed under the overhanging limbs and boughs. "Thanks, mate!" Snake-eyes shouted. Bayrd nodded.

"Hey, Bayrd?" It was Fenroy the rat.

"Yeah?"

"How many beasts you think you killed?"

There was silence for a minute, then Bayrd yelled back, "In a fight?"

"And defenseless!"

"Nah, I don't go after defenseless beasts. There's no challenge."

"Dead farmers and merchants," Lenn added, "can't ever pay you again."

"Good point."

"Don't go after 'em, Fenroy, that's what I'm saying," Bayrd said. He glanced up into the trees. It made him nervous…beasts could be watching. A joyful shout jerked him out of his paranoia.

"There!" Ecks shouted. The vermin glanced up instantly. A faint outline of a wall and belltower rose up in front of them. Bayrd grinned and let out a whoop, finding new strength in his legs to dash forward, the others hard on his heels.

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An outline in the rain, Laurie leaned on his cane, staring northwards, ignoring the water pouring off of his sleek grey and brown coat. Absentmindedly, he picked up a pebble, tossed it into the air, and tried to smack it with his cane. The downpour obscured his vision. Annoyed, he picked it up and dropped it over the walltop.

All day, he had avoided others' company—nothing new there—and racked his brains, searching for the dream. Dreams annoyed him, but it felt important. Laurie liked logic. He believed in rationality above all else. Reality was a rock that he could lean against. Dreams…nothing but his mind fizzing over while he slept.

Glaring out over the walltops, he blinked rain from his eyes. His eyes narrowed.

Turning, he limped down to the gates.

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Paw suspended to knock, Bayrd paused and looked over his shoulder, sizing up his crew.

"Try to look less like pirates and more like pathetic travelers, hey?" he asked, wincing. Snakeyes and Coldbare both had tattoes covering their arms, paws, and torsos. Ecks wore an eyepatch. The Brothers Darkness looked like they could rip a beast's arms off.

"Try like hell," the fox added. Looking back to the gates, he started to knock. As his paw moved, the gate opened and an otter with a cane stood before them, scowling.

"Yeah?" he asked gruffly.

The fox blinked, surprised, and lowered his paw. "Huh. Afternoon, mate. My name's Bayrd."

"Do you want me to shake your paw?" the otter asked.

"Not if you don't want to."

"What do you want?"

"Well, we'd like to come in and get out of the rain. We've been running since midnight and we're drop-dead tired."

The otter watched him for a moment, and then snapped his fingers. "Damn," he swore. "I was hoping you weren't exaggerating. Beat it."

Bayrd nimbly stepped inside the gate. "Well, since I'm already here…"

Rolling his eyes, the otter sardonically commented, "Oh dearie me. An invasion."

"Look, streamdog, we've just come asking for food and shelter."

The otter reached into his pouch and pulled out a piece of bark, popping it into his mouth. "What's that?" Lennartney asked curiously.

"Candy," the otter replied in a voice laced with sarcasm.

"Can we just talk to the Abbot?" Bayrd pressed. "We ain't gonna fight anybody."

Someone tapped him on the shoulder. The fox looked back. Coldbare, eyes wide, whispered, "_I think I saw the hares_."

Bayrd swallowed and glanced past the ferret. Something was definitely moving around out there, but the rain masked their shape. The good news was that it masked the vermin's shapes, too.

"Trouble on the road?" asked the otter pleasantly. Bayrd snorted.

"Maybe. I'll tell you about it inside—if you want, o' course. I know Redwallers don't take kindly to foxes."

The otter sighed and beckoned them in. "I don't really give a damn," he replied, shutting the gates behind them. "Give me a hand with the bar…"

Bayrd glanced at the Brothers Darkness and nodded to the bar. As one, they picked up the wood pole, lifted it up, and slammed it into place on the gates. "Handy," the otter commented. "I'm Laurie. Follow me. Name-calling and abuse await us."

The vermin followed him inside. Out in the rain, the Long Patrol scoured the roadside, tracking their prey.


	7. Sanctuary

**Note: See? More reviews makes me feel all warm and fuzzy deep down in the cockles of my heart. Keep it up, gentlemen and/or ladies.**

**Sorcha, Laurie's not the Skipper. That passage was confusing…my bad. I was trying to say the Skipper wouldn't elaborate on behalf of Laurie. The otters wouldn't let a cripple be Skipper, too. Bayrd and Co got to Redwall fast because they're strong young guys that were running for hours and they took some short-cuts through the mountains that I didn't want to write through. I hate writing uneventful travel scenes, don't you? Besides, those wussbags in the books take their sweet time getting from point A to point B. As for the House reference…yeah, House is pretty much awesome. Don't go looking for Wilson, though.**

Friar Schwartz lived up to the stereotype of his job. The old shrew was jolly, dedicated to his art, and fat at to the point many of the Dibbuns claimed "He's gonna a'splode one day!" In his youth, Schwartz sailed with the Guosim, but age and a love of food finally caught up with him. Humming to himself, the head cook simultaneously popped a tray of biscuits into the oven and took a finished batch out.

"Smells good." Laurie's voice floated into the kitchens. Schwartz frowned and closed the oven door.

"None for you, I'm afraid," he replied stiffly. Not many Redwallers liked Laurie. "You'll have to wait until teatime like the re—_good heavens!_"

Not many Redwallers liked vermin, either.

Bayrd folded his arms and muttered to the crippled otter, "This won't go well."

"It's your fault," Laurie answered.

"What in seasons' names are these yahooligans doing here?" Schwartz screeched, while his two assistants, mousemaids named Daisy and Jasmine, gasped, paws over their mouths. "Skipper of Otters is here with his crew, you know; they'll put paid to you soon enough and—"

"Shut up. Sit down," Laurie interrupted, limping over to the cook and lifting a biscuit as he went. "Where's Havelock?"

"What do you mean by it, you bad-tempered, unhinged _gimp?!_"

"Thanks for answering the question right away," said Laurie. "It makes things so much easier for us all."

"You can't bring—"

"I just did. _Where_ is _Havelock_?"

While they argued, Friar Schwartz's voice becoming progressively shriller, Bayrd turned to his band and hissed, "If you see anyone come after you, don't do anything. Don't unsheathe yer weapons and don't fight back."

"But Bayrd," Yanko asked, his bald tail twitching, "what if a big strapping otter comes and tries to clock me over the head with his rudder?"

"Then duck."

"Oi!" Everyone in the kitchens turned to the entrance. Half a dozen otters stood in the doorway. The leader's paws were cupped around his mouth. "What the blazes is goin' on?"

"He brought vermin into the Abbey!" Schwartz shrieked.

"And I need to see Havelock," Laurie said calmly.

The Skipper of Otters stared past Laurie at Bayrd and his crew. The fox nodded in greeting. "Afternoon."

A certain lowering in the room temperature suggested things weren't going well. Skipper pulled Laurie aside and began muttering furiously into his ear. The crippled otter said nothing for a while, rolling his eyes and leaning on his cane. Finally, he nodded and turned away from the Skipper, limping back to the vermin.

"All right," Skipper said, eyeing the vermin. "You lot…hand over yer weapons to my crew."

Bayrd heard one of his band start to protest. Quickly, he answered, "Sure thing, mate. Lads…"

The vermin unsheathed their weapons and set them on a free table. Bayrd silently placed his flamberge down, but failed to mention the dagger strapped to his knee. Foxes were cunning. Bayrd was cunning _and_ a complete cynical bastard.

"You're the leader?" Skipper asked, pointing to the fox. Bayrd nodded. "Follow me. You, too," the otter added, glowering at Laurie.

"Yes, master," Laurie said in a deep, guttural voice. One of the other otters snorted. Bayrd and Laurie followed Skipper out the door while the otter crew kept over-enthusiastic watch on the vermin. Once out of earshot, Skipper pleasantly asked, "So, Laurie. Would you mind telling me exactly why you let a bunch of vermin into the Abbey?"

"It's raining, they were outside. Do the math. Besides," Laurie said with fake concern, "it wouldn't be hospitable to shoo them away. Don't you have room in your heart for love?"

"Not for them," the brawny otter chief replied.

Bayrd heaved a much put-upon sigh. "Gee, thanks."

"I'm not gonna mince words just 'cause it'll hurt your delicate feelings, fox."

"Name's Bayrd."

"Don't care."

"Fine."

"Woah, woah, guys, guys!" Laurie interjected with the same tone as before. "I'm starting to think you don't like each other!"

"Don't blame me," Bayrd said as they turned a corner. "I—good grief. That's one big rug. Why's it got pictures on it?"

"That ain't a rug, broomtail," Skipper chuckled. "'s a tapestry. That mouse there—the one that looks like he could wallop you all the way to the sea? That's Martin the Warrior."

"Yeah, I figured."

A new voice came from the shadows. "Indeed. It is not hard to recognize Martin, is it? The sword, the armor, the vermin running back to their mothers in terror." Bayrd whirled to see an old mouse sitting on a bench, setting down a worn book. Laurie limped towards him.

"Havelock."

"_Father Abbot_," Skipper said pointedly, shooting the cripple another glare, "Laurie brought nine vermin into the Abbey without asking no one. They were armed to the teeth. Corsairs, I'd reckon."

"Corsairs don't go on land," Bayrd protested.

"How would a non-corsair know that?" Skipper asked smugly.

"Um, maybe because corsair _means_ sailor? They like to see the sea, see?"

"Enough," the Abbot said. He strode forward, habit sweeping the ground. "This is an Abbey. We have rules. Fox, why—well, first: what is your name?"

"Bayrd, guv'nor."

Abbot Havelock seemed to smile. "Father Abbot or Father will be fine. I'm not an, er… "guv'nor." Abbot Havelock. Why are you here?"

Bayrd looked the Abbot over. He was a middle-age mouse, past his prime, with hair starting to turn gray. He moved slowly but confidently, holding the air of someone who knew where he was going but didn't want to rush there. Overall, he looked smart.

"My friends and I need shelter from the elements, as well as food and a bit of rest. We've been running almost non-stop since midnight to get here."

"From where?" the Abbot asked.

Bayrd hesitated. This was a gamble. He could lie and say they'd been chased by something else—lizards, swamp toads, the rain, other vermin—or he could tell the truth. He decided truth. No one could spin a yarn like Bayrd, but the Long Patrol would be knocking any moment, and their word counted for more here than Bayrd's.

"Salamandastron," the fox answered. "Lady Halligan imprisoned us for no proven reason other than our species. I feared for my life—"

"What a surprise," Skipper snorted, folding his muscular arms.

"—Because Halligan's off the deep end, Father, and that's the truth. She cut the head off one of the prisoners and almost did the same to me." Bayrd tapped one of his ears where the Badger Lady had sliced the tip. "We buggered out last night and came straight here. Everyone knows about the famous Redwall hospitality. We hoped you could give us sanctuary from the Long Patrol. I know you and Salamandastron are close, but we ain't harmed anybody without just cause."

"'Without just cause?'" Abbot Havelock asked, raising an eyebrow. Bayrd shuffled his feet.

"One of the hares challenged me to a duel. I killed him," the fox said.

Havelock watched him closely. "Do you feel remorse?"

"No, he doesn't, Father," Skipper said.

"What are you," Laurie asked, "his translator?"

"Yes, I do," Bayrd said, layering his voice with honesty and what he hoped sounded like guilt. "He just came after me, Father. They all came after us just because we're 'vermin.' Why can't a fox be a harmless traveler?"

"Why, indeed," the Abbot murmured. He turned away and gazed thoughtfully at the tapestry. Finally, he spoke. "You're right, my son."

"But Havelock—" Skipper began. The Abbot cut him off.

"I will not allow my Abbey to fall victim to discrimination. The brothers and sisters of Redwall Abbey aid those who need it. The shape of those beasts is irrelevant. Their deeds," he continued, turning and fixing Bayrd with a piercing stare, "on the other hand, are."

"We won't make trouble," Bayrd assured him. The Abbot nodded, the ghost a smile flitting about his face.

"Oh, your very presence will cause trouble, Bayrd," he replied. "The other Redwallers do not share my tolerance. There is only one exception, and I believe he is less tolerant than they are. His lack of tolerance spreads to everyone, though, not just vermin."

"Heeeeeeeeey!" Laurie interjected, pointing his cane at the Abbot and grinning. "You're talking about me, aren't you?"

"Father Abbot!" someone called from the Great Hall. "A bunch of hares are at the gate."

"Bugger," Bayrd said. Havelock looked at him shrewdly.

"You have nothing to fear, remember? You are under the protection of Redwall…but Redwall does not approve of lying."

Leaving that thinly veiled threat hanging, the Abbot swept off to the entranceway. "Come. It is time," he said, sighing, "for politics."


	8. And Breathe Out

**Good Lord. Another exciting development: I posted a new chapter. Been a while, hasn't it? I've been basking in my own glory. I could give you fine men and/or women the full details about why it took me four months to post another chapter, but I'm sure you'd rather just read this. I won't explain myself!**

**This one's a bit shorter than usual, but at least you know I'm not dead.**

"Why, Captain Johnathan Sinistra. What a pleasant surprise."

The hare blew water from his nose and flicked raindrops off of his ears. His Long Patrol hares stood behind him, armed to the teeth, casually radiating confidence and restrained anger.

Bayrd scuttled back and wisely hid behind Laurie and Skipper.

"Father Havelock," Sinistra acknowledged, bowing politely. "It's been too long. I do hate to intrude, but d'you think you could let us? The lads and lasses are nearly drowned, haw haw."

The abbot smiled graciously and turned, one paw holding polished stick with several wide leaves above it, protecting himself from the rain. "Of course. Though I must ask you to not enter the kitchens at this time."

One of the hares groaned loudly and was quickly shushed into submission by his comrades.

"Forgive me," the abbot apologized, holding the door for them, "but it is quite…chaotic in there, I believe."

Bayrd, hunched slightly while trying to look small and insignificant, slipped inside before Skipper, trying to keep the burly otter between him and the hares as much as possible. The otter noticed and could not help but curl his lip at the cowardly action.

"What can I help you with?" Havelock asked, shutting the door. Laurie leaned on his cane and tossed a piece of bark into his mouth, glaring at the beasts present.

Sinistra raised a paw and pointed at the slinking fox. "Him. And his friends. He killed young Furny—no doubt you remember him from our last visit, even if he was just a fresh recruit—and several other hares in our mounta—"

He was cut off by a shriek of rage; one of the hares had broken the ranks and dashed at Bayrd, not even bothering to draw her weapon. She fell upon him like a snake on a fearful baby mouse—he was too paralyzed with dread and surprise to react. The raging hare kicked, bit and punched every square inch of fur and flesh she could reach. Bayrd curled up into a ball, yelping, "Help!"

No one moved very fast to help him. Skipper seemed to have developed a limp more pronounced than Laurie's; the crippled otter, on the other hand, seemed simply too lazy to move. Surprisingly, it was the elderly abbot that came to his aid, pulling the haremaid off of the fox with surprising force. "There will be _no_ fighting in my abbey," he said warningly, pale eyes flashing.

Captain Sinistra, to his credit, seemed to realize that the fun was over. "Private Eleanor, get back in the ranks. Now."

Eleanor, quivering with suppressed fury, allowed herself to be pulled back into the small crowd of hares, most of whom seemed slightly smug despite her breach of protocol. Havelock's brief moment of anger passed as quickly as it had appeared. He folded his paws within his habit and looked into Sinistra's eyes. "These beasts are now under the protection of Redwall Abbey. You know the pact and you know Redwall's laws. They may stay here as long as they wish provided they do nothing to break said laws."

One of the hares growled and stepped forward. Muscles rippled on his arms as he folded them across his chest. "Then we might only need to wait a few days, Father. These are vermin. In all the years we have been friends, Salamandastron and Redwall Abbey, you've never harbored the enemy and deliberately refused to help us."

"Wrong, actually," Laurie chimed in, idly toying with the end of his cane. "There have been several cases of vermin living in the Abbey, and we're not refusing you help. We're refusing _to_ help you beat the living daylights out of a bunch of—"

Havelock coughed. "Thank you, Laurie. But he is right, my perilous friends. Should these sailors, who have sworn to me upon all that is good in this world that they are victims of circumstance—with no blame to be placed upon them whatsoever—" (Bayrd cringed slightly) "—break their oaths and break our Abbey's laws, we will be more than happy to throw them to your tender care. Until then, they will stay here."

"And if we decide to take them?" the tough-looking hare asked, thrusting out his square jaw.

"Maston," Sinistra said warningly. Havelock smiled coldly.

"I think you'll find that that would be an exceedingly _stupid _idea," the abbot said.

The hares left soon after. There wasn't much more that could be said after _that_. No one wanted to be known as "The Hare that Attacked Redwall."

**

* * *

**Unsurprisingly, the vermin were told they would room in empty cellars rather than in real bedrooms. Their weapons would be kept locked in the gatehouse. Bayrd accepted the offer automatically—it would be hard enough to interact with the Redwallers, much less sleep near them (weapons were out of the question). Luckily, the interaction hadn't even started yet; the Redwallers were deeper inside the Abbey, hiding from the rain. 

While the vermin made makeshift beds out of straw mats and blankets in the cellars and set up candles for light, Bayrd laid down the law.

"No cussing, no disrespecting the Abbeybeasts. Be polite even when they aren't—and they won't be, not at first. For the love of all that is holy, don't steal anything. We'll be out of here faster than you can say 'Long Patrol is waiting for us with sharp objects.' Be chivalrous. Um…to those of you who don't know what that means, just don't speak much. Smile and nod, smile and nod. We good?"

"How long are we going to stay here?" Coldbare asked. Bayrd shrugged.

"As long as it takes for me to think of a plan. I'd bet my tail those bastard hares are out there waiting for us. We can't stay for to long just because of that, but we can't leave to soon, either. I'll think of something, lads, trust me."

"We do trust you, Bayrd," the ferret said, rubbing his paws together nervously. "It's just…we're trapped in this Abbey and we're trapped on land. We can't get back to our ships."

The fox sighed. "We'll just have to stick it out on land. There's other vermin in Mossflower. We just need to find someone good at covering our tracks. If we can lose the Long Patrol, we'll be safe. Do y'all think you can outfight them?"

Ecks immediately growled, "Hell yes." The others looked unsure.

"It'll be hard," Lennartney mused. "It's not as if it'll be a fight we're ready for. They'll come at us when we're not ready, like when we're sleeping or when we're deeper in the forests."

The sound of the door opening made several of them jump; the Skipper poked his head in.

"Settling in, vermin?" he asked coldly. Bayrd nodded.

"Just fine, thank you."

The otter grunted. "Father Abbot's gonna talk to the rest of the Abbeybeasts before dinner. It'd be better if only a few of you came so there ain't a riot."

"Absolutely," Bayrd said. When the otter left, he muttered, "I wouldn't have expected anything less from you intolerant curs." Louder, he added, "I'll be going, of course. I need two of the most polite to volunteer. We'll bring food back for the rest of you, don't worry."

**

* * *

**

Havelock sighed and coolly poured himself a glass of wine as arguments and outraged cries flew through the Great Hall. He hadn't expected _this_ much protesting, not from the Abbeydwellers. Surely the requirement that all Redwallers help those in need extended to vermin, too. Salamandastron had definitely nurtured their hatred considerably since the days of Martin the Warrior—and it had been a considerable hatred then, to boot. The Abbot was just one of a small few that believed peace would come along with tolerance. Nevertheless, old prejudices formed over hundreds upon hundreds of seasons would take a while to overcome.

It did make him worry when several beasts asked him, rather rudely, if he had gone insane.

Taking a sip from the crimson wine, he licked his lips and rubbed a paw across his eyes. If he thought this was chaotic, who knew what the upcoming dinner would hold in store.


	9. Diners are Served

**Well, well, well. We meet again, readers. Way to step up and review, some of you. I even got about fifty CHAN_tastic reviews!_ Now, take your hero-worship to the next level. Tell your friends! Tell their friends, and theirs! It is said that everyone knows someone that knows someone _that knows someone_ who knows someone famous. Or something. In any case, if you pass this to your friend thrice-removed, I think it's reasonable that Christian Bale, Stephen Colbert, and Mancow be reading Broomtail by Christmas.**

Muffled thuds and twangs emanated from a locked room, augmented by muttering and the occasional curse. Afternoon tea finished at long last, Havelock smiled slightly and rapped on the mahogany door. Laurie's room was hard to find for several reasons. Unlike most bedrooms, it was located on the ground floor since the otter couldn't climb stairs easily. Not only that, it was located in the middle of the various cloisters and hallways the Abbey sported, requiring intuition, determination, and a good memory to find—that way, not any idiot could barge in and ruin the misanthropic otter's privacy. Finally, it was peaceful. There was one window and one door, but otherwise had no connections to the rest of the Abbey…just how Laurie liked it.

The sounds eventually stopped and Laurie opened the door, his injured leg raised slightly in the air and his cane propped up against the bed. "The Cellarhogs are going to be asking you about some missing wood and tools later. Just shrug and say you don't know what could have happened."

Havelock nodded, keeping a straight face, and swept into the room, slowly sitting on the edge of the large, comfortable bed. He hadn't expected a greeting, anyways. "All right. You could have just asked…"

Laurie made a face—all the answer Havelock needed. "Laurie, what exactly _is _that?"

"Nothing yet," the otter replied, glancing at the mass of wood, string, and thin slabs of stone slightly bigger than one of his fingers. "Give it a while, though. It'll sound great."

Once again, the Abbot accepted the evasive answer. "The Brothers and Sisters chewed me out over tea."

"Surprised?"

"Far from it. Nevertheless, I was hoping for at least one voice of reason besides my own." He sighed. "Tolerance, I'm afraid, is intolerable. This is an _Abbey_, not a fortress."

Laurie grunted and lay on the ground by the mass of wood, picking up a hammer again. "Tell that to Cluny, the Marlfoxes, and all the other stupid bastards that tried to conquer the damn place."

"You know what I mean. It's a place of refuge, first and foremost. If the fox tries anything, it'll be easy to toss him out on his ear. Or worse."

"Yeah," Laurie said, squinting up into the dark recesses of the creation and twanging a string. "But what these idiots are worried about is the fox trying something, and if he'll try it on them, personally."

Havelock stood and ran a paw through his graying headfur. "You are so cynical."

"Yeah, but am I right or am I right?"

* * *

After a long debate, it had been decided that the two vermin to accompany Bayrd would be Lennartney, Snake-Eyes, and Coldbare. Lenn, of course, was generally amiable to everyone and could play some nice music to loosen the Abbeybeasts up. Snake-Eyes had no musical skills to speak of, but had the best grammar out of the remaining vermin and could successfully change accents in the blink of an eye. Bayrd eventually gave in on letting Coldbare be the fourth representative simply because he once had been the first mate on a ship and new a bit about dinner etiquette.

The others, Bayrd thought, would be lucky if the woodlanders passed them the salt 'n' pepper. The searats were uncouth, the weasels were simple, and Ecks was simply scary.

Eventually, Skipper let them out (still with bad grace) just as dinner began. Flanked by otters that displayed no sense of humor, they marched up to the Great Hall.

"So, what's cookin'?" Bayrd asked cheerfully. A frosty silence answered him.

"Ah. Great. Tasty."

The reception when they entered the Great Hall was even less friendly than the otters. Mice, hedgehogs, squirrels, voles, and moles turned, glared daggers as they approached, and turned back to their steaming hot meals.

Havelock, for his part, acted politely enough, officially welcoming to the Abbey and offering them seats near him…probably to keep an eye on them, Bayrd reflected. Nevertheless, the elderly mouse was one half of the entire Redwall populace that came close to supporting them, so he'd not complain about the seating arrangements.

What he was unprepared for, though, was the buffet-style arrangement of the tables as well as the food itself. It was simply lined up so that one could heap his plate with whatever he wanted. Bayrd was used to a lack of actual meals when he sailed; you grabbed what looked edible when your stomach started growling, gulped it down, and got back to work. If you were lucky, it wouldn't have that many weevils.

This food, on the other hand, was actually cooked, prepared by beasts whose entire life revolved around churning out a whole mess of grub that was widely accepted as tasty by one and all. Bayrd was _not_ used to that.

Hesitantly, he picked up a fork, spinning it nervously between finger and thumb, and sampled the strange looking pastry in front of him.

Oh. My. Gods.

Swallowing something so delicious was almost impossible. Ha, that's what she said.

When the brief explosion of taste-induced euphoria had subsided, he blinked and asked the squirrel next to him, "What is this stuff?"

The squirrel eyed him, aloof, and eventually replied, "It's Deeper'n Ever Pie. The moles make it."

Damn, Bayrd thought. Slap me silly and stick a pair of digging claws on me paws, its good. These beasts eat this _every stupid stinkin' day._ Incredible. No wonder half of them were overweight. "It's incredible," he said, honesty oozing in his words. It didn't work that well; honesty seldom oozes. The squirrel seemed to accept the compliment, though, so…_more power to me, I guess_. Nevertheless, the food around the vermin seemed to be disappearing much more quickly than it did at tables filled with the "noble" beasts. To Bayrd's right, Lennartney reached for a scone only to see it and the final four disappear in flashes of brown and gold fur. The mice nearby munched on their salvaged sweets with smug satisfaction.

"This blows," Lenn muttered so that only Bayrd could hear.

"Oh, dear me!" someone said loudly, shattering the angry murmurs like a hammer through a stained glass window. Heads turned to see Laurie limping into the hall, cane clutched tightly in his right paw. "Where _are_ our manners? We have _visitors_!"

There was a mass shifting in seats. Even angrier glares now flew around the room. Laurie obviously wasn't popular.

"You there, Hamilton," the otter said, pausing by a table and pointing his cane at a hedgehog three times Bayrd's girth. "You've got enough food to feed a marching march hare. Give some to the poor, tuckered out, pooped, done in, exhausted, drained, hungry, dehydrated, and above all _tired_ guests, won't you?"

When the hedgehog simply glowered at him, Laurie spun around and march-limped up to the Abbot's table, shrugging. "Very well, then. Add another chin to your already impressive collection.

"Look at this lad!" he exclaimed, clapping Coldbare on one broad shoulder. "He looks about ready to drop! When was the last time you ate, kid?"

"Um." The ferret looked ready to panic, yellow eyes flickering to Bayrd, silently pleading for aid. "Two…two days ago?"

"Gosh darn golly, is that so?" Laurie asked with overly-excited, wide-eyed innocence. "Well, it's a good thing my good old buddies here at Redwall are feeding you, isn't it? It'd be horrible if you left our Abbey and told everyone what _incredibly stingy bastards_—" (several mothers covered their babes' ears) "—we've got here. I'm glad that won't happen though. _Right, gang_?" he asked cheerfully, wheeling to face the stone-faced Redwallers.

Grudgingly, food reappeared on platters.

"Well done," Laurie said, the manic grin sliding off his face to be replaced by the more familiar grimace of world-weary depression. "I'm glad we've all learned to share."

With that, he limped off. The murmurs picked up again, this time with the disapproval directed at one of the Redwallers' own.

"We're in deep shit, aren't we?" Snake-Eyes muttered across the table in a perfect Redwaller accent sullied by coarse language.

"Look at it this way," Bayrd replied in a whisper. "They're more mad at him than they are us, and they've stopped stealing all the food."

Indeed, with the anger now channeled along a different route, things seemed to brighten at the dinner table.

"So, what's your name?" the squirrel next to Bayrd asked. Redwallers nearby engaged the other corsairs in stiff but somewhat polite conversation. A good sign.

"Bayrd. I'm a well-compensated establishment provocateur. Wrap your head around that one, eh?" He grinned and nodded greetings. "Nice to meet ya. And you are?"

"Lipwig," the squirrel answered, taking a bite of pasty and shaking off his puzzlement. Just what exactly was a well-established…er, compensated well…whatever. "If you don't mind me asking…what exactly are you all _doing_ here?"

"Don't worry," Bayrd said, hearing the hidden question: What the hell did you _do?_ "We didn't kill anybody or anything. Well, okay, yes, I did. But it was in a duel."

Despite himself, Lipwig was interested. "Really? What happened?"

Bayrd slowly walked him through his story, beginning with his capture and ending with that same dinner. It took him a bit longer than he thought, but that was only because he had to scan sentences and delete expletives before they came out…and of course he couldn't tell this woodlander, broomtailed or not, the details about Darkten. When he finished, the squirrel looked unsure of whose side he was on. That was good. The hares weren't here to plead their case, but Bayrd could do enough pleading to cover his entire band of merry corsairs twice over.

"Well, when are you leaving?"

As soon as I can figure out a way to outsmart those bastard hares, Bayrd thought. "As soon as we recover our strength and figure out where we'll be headed from here. It's not easy to run from Salamandastron to Redwall in one night after eating nothing and drinking a few measly gulps of rainwater."

Lipwig smiled slightly. "Well, where are you headed, then?"

"Hm…you know, I don't actually know…" Bayrd frowned. It was true. He _didn't_ know. He could try and get a ship to get back to Darkten's island…maybe try life on land for a while…meh. He and the rest of the band could decide later. "But I'll be out of your headfur in two shakes of your bushy tail, matey, don't you worry about nothin'. In the meantime…Lenn! Play us a ditty, hey?"

After that, the dinner went well. Better, in fact, than anyone present had expected. The Redwallers, as Bayrd had predicted, softened up considerably when Lennartney played a heartbreakingly beautiful song with his lyre. Snake-Eyes, like Bayrd, engaged in conversations with actual interest behind each party's words, and Coldbare, rising so high above and beyond the call of duty that he nearly hit his head on the ceiling of utmost success, performed _bloody magic tricks_. The Dibbuns couldn't stop laughing at "Mista Faywut."

Despite all the charm he poured out, all the honesty he oozed to whatever degree of success, there were some beasts that would not budge from their position on the ramparts of Justice, located atop the fortress of Good. Vermin were evil. That was all there was to it. The otters, definitely, hated their guts. Quite a few of the mice were dubious, while some came to accept the vermin that night and others still refused to even look at them. The voles were about as simple as the Brothers Darkness and would believe whatever the person next to them said. The hedgehogs…well, they were drunk.

On the whole, Bayrd thought as he lay down on his makeshift bed, it could've been a lot worse.


	10. In the Ocean of Suspicion

**Two chapters in under 24 hours. What can I say? It's a lazy Saturday. More power to me**. **Note to those who haven't read the last chapter: Read it first. Otherwise this won't make sense.**

"Well," Abbot Havelock said, easing himself onto his bed, "that went better than I had hoped, even if every Abbeybeast present was insulted."

The otter was sprawled on the ground, staring at the ceiling. "They deserved it. Not sharing food with the poor, done-in travelers? What kind of Redwallers are these? Are you a mouse or an amoeba?"

"I'm not sure what that is."

"Nothing to be ashamed of," Laurie answered, putting a paw over his ice-blue eyes. "I learned quite a lot after my multitude of experiences prior to having to be locked up in here."

"Now, you know that's not true. No one's forcing you to stay; in fact, most beasts here would prefer it if they never saw you again."

"Yeah," the crippled otter snorted, taking the paw away from his face to scowl at the Abbot. "I'll just limp out into Mossflower and smack down anybeast what attacks me with my cane, right?"

Abbot Havelock pulled a book from his nightstand and opened it, carefully turning pages with one finger. "I'm sure an escort could be arranged."

"Walking hurts. I don't have anywhere to _go_."

"Then stop complaining."

A knock on the door put the conversation to an end. A small, thin otter poked his head in, looking worried. Havelock sighed and put his book down. "Yes, Rolf?"

"Beggin' yore pardon, Abbot, but a Dibbun's gone missing."

The Abbot calmly replaced the book on the table and walked to the door, glancing back at Laurie. "Coming?"

"Don't be ridiculous," the otter said, still lying unmoving on the floor. "I'm crippled."

Havelock snorted and left.

**

* * *

**

"Well," said Bayrd, wrapping his tail around his shoulders to keep warm, "that was one of the better naps I've had, even if it's bloody freezing in here."

The vermin were lolling around in various states of post-slumber laziness. Lennartney lay atop a trio of barrels, tuning his lyre while the rats and weasels, unsurprisingly, had begun another game of poker. Coldbare was teaching Snake-eyes magic tricks.

"Aye," Lennartney said, shrugging his thin shoulders. "Better than jail."

"It kind of _is _jail," the fox said. "It's not like we can leave."

"But the food…"

"Ah, yes. The food." Bayrd sighed, staggered upright, and slouched against the barrels. "You think we can bust these open and get to whatever's inside?"

"I'd advise against't."

"Yeah…"

They sat in silence for a while, watching Coldbare produce a stick out of thin air. "The ferrets really stepped up last night, didn't they?" Bayrd asked, more as a statement than a question. Lenn nodded.

"Bayrd, what're we gonna _do_?"

Another sigh. "Dunno. We _are_ trapped here. The coast is a long ways away and we don't have a ship to get us to Darkten's island. Hell, we'll have a hard time sailin' a ship big enough to get there, just the eight of us. Probably less, since the Long Patrol is waiting out there to shoot us as soon as we poke our heads out of the Abbey. We'd need to get more vermin—excuse me, beasts of lesser "nobility"—from Mossflower 'fore we tried to get to sea…and we'd have to steal a ship…it won't be easy. Really, what we need is for the Redwallers to take us into Mossflower just so we can look around, find out where vermin'll be hiding…"

The cellar door opened and five otters stepped inside, Skipper at their head. "Fox," he growled. "Follow us."

Bayrd, with some effort, straightened up and strolled up to the burly otter. "Is there a reason for this, or is dinner served again already?"

"No backtalk from you, fox," one of them began, but Skipper cut them off.

"We can't find one of the Dibbuns, a mouse named Matthew. Coincidently, you all showed up right before he disappeared."

Floating on a leaky life raft in the oceans of suspicion, Bayrd had an idea: a doozy, a humdinger, a "Damn, I'm brilliant!" sort of idea that hit you over the head like a ton of rectangular building things.

"Yanko 'n' Fenroy," he shouted. The rats immediately left their card game and flanked him. "Follow us. Lead on, otter."

**

* * *

**

"They stole my baby!"

"Who let these vermin in here in the first place, eh?"

"Throw 'em to the Guosim!"

"Nah, to the Long Patrol!"

"We don't want their kind here!"

"For the love of all that is holy!" Bayrd roared. "Shut up, will yer?"

The throng of angry Redwallers did, in fact, shut up. They wouldn't stay quiet for long, though. They were only speechless because they were so outraged. How dare a vermin tell me to shut up, fwah fwah fwah. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Abbot Havelock emerge from a corridor and walk towards the group.

"First off, we haven't been here long enough to plot to steal the silverware, much less steal a living, breathing mousebabe. Ya got me? If I had to guess, I'd say that the Dibbun is either hiding in an attic or he got out of the Abbey when the hares—" he paused for a moment to mentally curse all hares. "—When the hares came. I assume you've all searched every crook and nanny, so 'e must be in Mossflower."

"Nook and cranny, I believe," Havelock murmured in the fox's triangular ear as he approached. The Abbot walked past and stood in front of his Redwallers. "I suspect that Bayrd is right. I've already told you all that I believe this fox is telling the truth. As _you_ yourself said, Brother Wentworth, it would be the work of a moment to throw the vermin out. There are over a hundred of us and only eight of them. Calm yourselves."

Brother Wentworth, an overweight dormouse, folded his arms on top of his habit-stretching stomach. "Perhaps, Father, but I still believe this is no coincidence."

"That's fine, that's fine," Bayrd said before Havelock could respond, waving a paw dismissively. "Hundreds of seasons of vermin being, well, vermin…I see where you're coming from. But, to prove to you goodbeasts that I and my crew had nothing to do with young Mark's—"

"Matthew."

"—Matthew's disappearance, I will take these two strapping young rats with me into Mossflower to look for the babe."

"Oh, right," said a squirrel—it looked like Lipwig, only thinner and more curvy. His sister? Aye, most likely. Lipwig was standing beside her, arms folded, gazing at the fox. "We'll let you go into Mossflower to talk to the kidnappers and work out how much ransom money you want? I don't think so!"

Shouts of agreement rang out. Abbot Havelock raised a thin hand, calming them. "A valid point, _Hibiscus_."

"Don't _call_ me that, Father," she said, flushing slightly. "Just Bisk."

"Of course. How silly of me to forget that. You and young Lipwig may go with Bayrd and Yanko to search part of Mossflower. Skipper, send three otters to go with…Fenroy, correct? Yes. And the fox and rats will not be given weapons. Are we agreed? Good. I believe it is time for lunch. Friar Schwartz, get cracking in those kitchens, won't you?"

**

* * *

**

"I can't believe he paired us with you," Bisk hissed, traipsing through Mossflower's undergrowth. Bayrd chuckled in response. He had already told Yanko to keep his trap shut, so this squirrel lady was about to get 100 smooth talking.

"I'm by far the most talkative and intelligent of the lot," Bayrd said, smiling roguishly. "You're lucky you got paired with me."

"Are you trying to butter up my sister?" Lipwig asked from behind him. The squirrel carried a javelin in one hand and the air of someone that knew how to skewer beasts in the other. Bayrd decided it'd be better not to tell Lipwig that his sister was extremely pretty. The Redwallers, unlike most vermin, might not take to cross-species lusting, even if vermin still only married (if ever) within their own species.

"There's no need to be crude," Bayrd said smoothly. "I'm just a friendly fox."

"My arse," said Bisk. Strong-willed, too.

"There's no need to be crude," he repeated. "Maxwell!"

"His name's Matthew," Lipwig muttered.

"Yeah, that's what I meant."

It had been an hour and a half. They had gone north into the woods while the otters and Fenroy had gone south and a third group of otters had stayed in the forest closer to Redwall to search. So far, no luck on the northern front. Bayrd was still nervous about the Long patrol, but he was relatively certain they wouldn't attack while he was with the two squirrels. Probably. Hopefully. With luck.

He really, _really_ wished he had his sword…

"Did you hear that?" Yanko asked, breaking his vow of silence. The fox cocked his ears and stopped moving.

"Shh…"

He heard it that time. A rustling in the underbrush. "Matthew?" Bisk called uncertainly, gripping her own javelin. No answer.

"Check it out, Yanks," Bayrd urged.

"Me? Why me?"

"You've got more muscle than I do."

"Why can't the squirrels do it?"

"We'll back you up," Lipwig assured him.

Yanko heaved a sigh and cautiously crept forward towards a line of tall bushes. Bayrd felt his heart thumping in his chest. His tail twitched; he quietly picked up a rock and hid it behind his back. After what seemed like eternity, the searat reached the bushes and cautiously pulled them apart.

A blade ripped out of the underbrush and cut his head off. Blood, twigs, and his head flew through the air. Bisk sceamed, shoved Bayrd forward, and took off back towards the road. Lipwig was already gone.

"Oh, fuckberries!"

The fox hit the ground, which was why the second swing of the axe was well over his head.

He propelled himself up and sent an uppercut into his attacker's face. The creature yelped and fell backwards. Bayrd threw the rock at the creature; it hit his chest and bounced off of a hard sheet of iron armor.

The axe swung upwards and nearly took off Bayrd's outstretched arm. The fox grabbed the axe handle as it drew near, yanked it out of the attacker's grasp and raised it up to cut the bastard from crown to crotch.

Stars exploded in his eyes and he blacked out.

_Oh, not agai—_


End file.
